


Miles to Go Before I Sleep

by Chronicler



Series: A Glimpse [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alpha/Omega, American History, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Porn, Bestiality, Biting, Bodice-Ripper, British Character, British English, Did I Mention It's With A Wolf?, Dom/sub, Dominance, Forests, Historical, Historical References, Historical Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Interspecies, Interspecies Relationship(s), Interspecies Romance, Interspecies Sex, Knotting, Licking, Love, M/M, Mounting, One True Pairing, Oral Sex, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Original Universe, POV Original Character, POV Third Person Limited, Pack, Pack Dynamics, Pansexual Character, Poetry, Porn With Plot, Queer Themes, Rimming, Romance, Scent Kink, Scent Marking, Size Kink, Submission, True Love, Violence, Western, Wilderness, With A Wolf, Wolf Pack, Wolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 07:26:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9112672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chronicler/pseuds/Chronicler
Summary: A sequel to The Comfort of Wild Things, my historical romance between an immigrant searching for the American Old West and a wolf:Samson is content, hunting to provide for his new mate Isaac, and mounting him beneath the moon.They've made it through a harsh winter together, but the rest of the pack is restless, disapproves of having a mouth to feed that has nothing to contribute.And do we ever really know what those we love are saying, and what they truly want?The continuing adventures of Samson and Isaac as they try to find a place to be together.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A Christmas/Kwanza/Winter Solstice present for the special someone I mentioned. Who still won't let their name be attached to it. They did beta read it. And they said you'll think they're my imaginary 'friend' who I use as an excuse. I see their point. But this really is what they asked for. And I am rather attached to Isaac and Samson.
> 
> I re-edited The Comfort of Wild Things. I hadn't expected anyone to read it, so thank you.
> 
> I was experimenting with POV. Feedback gratefully received. But please read the tags for warnings.
> 
> Please see part one for photo montage.
> 
> Feel free to yell at me to finish part three.
> 
> Title from Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost:
> 
> https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/42891
> 
> ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_The woods are lovely, dark and deep,_  
_But I have promises to keep,_  
_And miles to go before I sleep,_  
_And miles to go before I sleep._  
_~ Robert Frost_

 

Long, pale, and smooth as a skinned deer. That’s how Isaac appeared to Samson. He knew that was his name now, knew to look up when Isaac called it. It wasn’t what the rest of the pack called him, they mostly knew him by his howl, his scent, but it was the name he liked best.

He lay spread out on his front before the fire, had got used to fire. Isaac, soft and fragile, was always building them, annoyed as he played with rocks and sticks while Samson watched.

Isaac lay spooned around him, slender fingers combing through Samson’s fur. Always moving, touching.

‘There was no ice left on the river when I went down today. Everything is almost thawed,’ Isaac was murmuring against Samson’s neck, but he didn’t know what the sounds meant. Just enjoyed the warmth of the breath tickling his fur.

‘There were flowers hidden in the long grass, can you believe it? They looked like bluebells, but…’ Isaac continued, and Samson vibrated, a hum through him of contentment. The meaningless sound of Isaac’s voice washed over him, beautiful as the wind through the trees, the echo through the valley, brooks bubbling over rocks.

‘… and there are berries growing in the shrubs, _berries_ , like brambles back home. I’m grateful, of course, for all you bring me, but it’s good to have something other than meat to eat, and they’re…’

In the background the rest of his pack grumbled, soft whines of discontent.

‘… go out and watch the next sunrise when the others sleep, you should come, we can…’

Isaac never seemed to understand the howls and posturing that constantly surrounded him, so Samson didn’t worry. He perhaps would if Isaac were smarter, more aware of what happened around him. But he babbled away, ate everything he was given, and let Samson mount him whenever he pleased, so Samson just let him be.

Come darkness that night, Samson woke from his fitful sleep to find Isaac curled against his side. He pulled himself free, pushed his front paws along the ground as he stretched, yawned, jaw opening wide.

Amongst his pack he padded outside, the grey world tinged yellow under the half moon, the sky littered with tiny lights like Isaac’s fires.

They roamed, tracked, time rushing by, marked only by trees, mountains, streams.

 _Go left!_ Barnabus howled. Samson knew what Isaac called him too, though Barnabas always ignored it, just glared.

They circled the deer they’d spotted, its breaths fast, eyes wide, the whites showing stark in the moonlight.

A moment of stillness, before Samson hurled himself forwards, leapt at the deer's throat as it tried to bolt.

A rush of blood filled his mouth and they hit the ground, the pack descending, covering it.

A bleat in the night then only the tearing of flesh and snarls of pleasure.

The struggling beneath him stopped as he ripped free strips of flesh. The herd had scattered, but would be there for another hunt before the light returned.

As his pack feasted, surrounding the slab of freshly slaughtered meat, he dragged free a hind limb, head low to the ground, teeth glinting as they dripped life, to take back and present to Isaac. Get him down on his knees, the towering length of him. Samson had to provide, always provided, and in return they would breed, he would cover Isaac, rutting into him, claim what was his.

Samson’s whole body was alight with anticipation.

He turned, ready to head back with his prize, but Barnabas stood before him, silvery light glinting off his fur. He threw back his head and howled, Salome tucking her head under his snout to protect his throat.

The air filled with the warning. _Enough_ , it said. _Enough_.

Dropping the still-warm shank of meat, Samson bared his fangs and snarled, ears pricked, listening to the padding of paws behind him on the soggy ground.

They were on him too fast for him to move, jaws biting into his flank, blood splattering onto what remained of the thawing snow, black against white.

 _Cubs, there are no cubs for the spring_ , the growls told him. _A useless mouth to feed_. The howls called out. _Go_.

With a whine he couldn't hold back, Samson staggered to the side, planted his paws firmly on the ground. _Mine!_

All his, they were all his, they were all –

On him again. Tearing. And he staggered, neck ligaments pulled taut as he tried to bite at the weight on his back.

He hit the mud, struggled to his feet, retreated, they stared back at him like strangers. He turned and ran, fast as he could go with his side torn open, the thud of paws behind him. Kept going till all he heard was the wind rustling the trees and his own ragged breaths.

‘What happened?’ Isaac asked, falling to his knees at Samson’s side when he limped into the cave.

He growled, snapped his jaws at Isaac as slender fingers felt Samson’s side, pain striking through him like lightening.

Isaac fumbled about in the pile of pointless things he kept, came back and dabbed at Samson’s wounds with the flimsy cloth he covered himself with.

The cave filled with the sound of Samson’s whines as he staggered and fell forward, hunched on the ground.

‘Who did this? A bear? Another pack? Or – or was it the others? _Your_ pack? _Why?_ ’ Isaac prodded at the jagged tear in Samson’s side, and he grabbed Isaac’s wrist in his jaw, held it, looked up into his eyes, as limpid and watery as the forest covered in morning dew.

More blood on his tongue.

‘You’re hurting me! Samson, I don’t –’

He let go and Isaac held his wrist, so delicate, too delicate. But he kept fussing over Samson with a wet cloth, binding his leg. Till Samson rose to his feet, all the breath leaving his lungs. He pushed at Isaac’s things with his snout till Isaac gathered them together, and Samson pushed him outside. A chill in the air, the sky was just starting to yellow.

And there, his pack watched, glinting amber eyes cutting through the gloom.

Samson limped between Isaac and the others, growled.

‘Samson, we must go,’ Isaac whispered behind him, taller than all of them but fragile as the flowers starting to emerge from the long grasses.

Samson backed away, before heading into the trees, Isaac’s hand resting on his head.

Behind them howls filled the air till they faded away to nothing but the wind.

Days passed as Samson healed, foraging for carcasses they could eat.

‘’Tis better roasted, see?’ Isaac said, as Samson ate charred racoon from Isaac’s hand then licked it clean.

They sat by a fire in a clearing in the forest, the moon just a sliver overhead and the tall trees a buffer against the spring wind howling.

‘Where will we go?’ Isaac asked, staring at the fire. ‘My clothes are rags, I won’t make it through another winter. It seemed possible back at the cave with the others. However, we can’t do it on our own. A pack of two. We can’t –’

And with a low rumble, Samson got to his feet, pushing at Isaac with his snout, licking his face. He didn’t understand Isaac's laughter, but Isaac relaxed, fingers tugging at his fur just right.

The drive seized him, always did, the pressure starting to tighten between his legs. Isaac didn’t have the scent, drawing him like his other mates had. But Samson wanted him just the same, wanted him all the time.

Goose pimpled skin was uncovered as he pushed at Isaac and Isaac pulled off his clothes, fumbling around with the jar he collected fat in from the meat he ruined with his fires. Presented himself on all fours like Samson was used to, like the bitches in heat always had.

He licked at Isaac’s hole, felt his body tense then relax under his tongue, the taste of salty skin so unlike fur.

And the drive, drive, drive pushed him forwards. All he wanted was to be inside, to relieve the terrible pressure between his legs by driving it home, being where he was meant to be.

Inside, finally inside, the gasps beneath him scratching at his skin like claws but just urging him on.

Already leaking inside the body he thrust into, he didn’t know why there had been no cubs, but look at how the ones from before had turned on him, had –

‘Well lookee here, Cull, told youse we could have us as good a time out in the backwoods as in the townships.’

Samson looked over at the two men watching them, laughing at them.

‘You was right, Craw. We should go next, show the boy what he’s been missing, what real men can do.’

Hips stuttering, Samson growled, pulling out as he wrenched away and then advanced on the pair. Whole body tense, one paw raised ready to pounce, he still ached, wet and unfulfilled.

Hair and beards greying and bellies soft, they looked like old wolves who would soon lie down in the snow and not rise again. But they carried long metal tubes, with more sharp metal tucked into their belts, and these wolves that walked on their hind legs were tricky.

Whole body alert and ready to pounce, he stood to attention, ready and eager to taste their blood.

But they stood stock still amidst the rumbling of their laughter, didn’t meet the hard glint of his eyes. And one had a dark eye missing, his other eye flickering at the ground. The stench in the air of old sweat and fermentation, each clasped a corked bottle.

‘What do you want?’ Isaac asked behind him, over the unwelcome sound of him scrabbling into his clothes.

‘We’re camped beneath the ridge over yonder. You should come by. Don’t bring your pet.’

One advancing move and Samson would have had them, but they backed away, disappeared into the trees.

It was an unfulfilling night on watch, and once dawn came Samson tumbled into a fitful sleep out in the cold beneath the harsh glare of the sun.

_He was running, running, always running, the scent of prey in the air, always just out of reach, and something behind him, chasing him too, and he –_

Claws still scrabbling at the ground, Samson snapped to attention, rose as the world solidified around him, the sparse grass under his paws, the cage of the trees surrounding, the endless sky above.

But it was only Isaac, and he bustled around, packing up his things, saying, ‘We need to leave. Head west. I have… have a map… We should leave. And then –’

Watching, listening, Samson snuffled against his side, pushed him. He didn’t smell right. Didn’t smell of sweat and, well, Samson. He must have been to the river even though it was still too cold. He shouldn’t go on his own, shouldn’t go anywhere without Samson to watch over him. And he had marks, new marks, bruised circles where his pulse beat through his wrists, and on the pale expanse of his neck.

Samson growled, pushed at him, demanding: _Where did you go?_ _What did you do?_ The frustration built in him. Teeth scraped a warning over skin scrubbed raw. _If you let anyone else near you I’ll rip out their throat, then yours._ And this time, when he got inside, his body swelled and trapped him there and when he turned away, anchored, it was a relief. _Mine_.

They started to walk that night. Isaac had something he wouldn’t let Samson touch now. A secret. A dusty flat frustration that he kept studying like it would tell him where to catch deer, where to find clean water, where was safe to hole up for the day. Things that mattered.

‘That way,’ Isaac paused on an outcropping, pointing out over the valley towards where the sun had set, made the sky bleed. ‘They said I must have been on the Oregon trail before I was… was cast out… They showed me a compass, but they wouldn’t give it to me. Only the map. And for that I had to, had to… I’m sorry…’

His voice trailed away and he didn’t stop looking out over the expanse spread out before them in the moonlight, Samson’s world a palette of greys and yellows, with a promise of blue as the sky hinted at dawn.

Isaac was starting to stumble, and Samson pulled him into a hollow at the base of a massive, ancient cedar, curled around him.

‘We must start out again before sunset, we have to…’ Isaac murmured, frigid hands buried in Samson’s fur as he went lax.

Days of travelling passed and Samson learnt, learnt that Isaac was all but blind when there was no moon. Learnt that it was too easy to sneak up on him. The tension settled, a knot in his back. The fear that if he left too long on a hunt, or to squat and leave his scat to mark his territory before they slept for the day, he would come back and find Isaac gone.

They drifted onto days, travelling while the sun was bright overhead.

‘I’m so glad you found me, Sam. I’d be dead otherwise, I know it.’

The empty words washed over Samson, but as always he enjoyed the sound of them. The grass was soft under his paws and the air getting warmer.

‘I wish things were different. I wish we had somewhere to go. I wish I could take you home with me.’ Isaac stumbled over a root and Samson grumbled as he righted him. But Isaac was laughing, saying, ‘Can you imagine? My parents would have a conniption if I brought home a common girl from the village, let alone a boy, or… you… You could always eat them all up? That would solve it.’

That night, the sky blushing brown as the light faded, the moon a sharp crescent, Samson brought Isaac meat then mounted him. Body pulsing with each burst of his seed as he filled Isaac up. Perhaps this time there would be cubs, a new pack, a better one that would never turn away.

‘A lake!’ Isaac called one day, an expanse of grey-blue stretched out before them, that rippled and glinted in the sunlight.

Lean and pale, Isaac pulled off his clothes, that always got Samson’s attention.

But then he was splashing into the water and Samson followed. He’d learnt to swim by paddling after his father, and the cool water felt good, felt free.

Isaac disappeared from view and Samson looked around with a whine, the tension coming back. But with a splash and the roar of water Isaac popped up by his side laughing as fingers twined in sodden fur and Samson scrabbled at water.

Back on the pebbled shore Samson grumbled, but not for long. Hands were on him, underneath, where he ached to be touched, and then the wet warmth of Isaac’s mouth. It hadn’t been like this with his other mates, not like this at all, and Samson whined again as pleasure was stroked and suckled out of him.

Afterwards, he caught them fish and Isaac seemed pleased as he heated it and they feasted.

Curled together beneath the moon that grew fatter each night, Isaac’s fingers combing through Samson’s fur, he whispered, ‘I think about it sometimes. How you’re going to die long before I do. Do you think about that? Do you even know? No, no of course you don't. You think this is forever. That if you never let me out of your sight I’ll always be here, and you’ll always be here, and we’ll just always be us wandering beneath the stars.’

Being lead disquieted Samson, but he had little choice. He tried to herd Isaac towards fields he saw where packs of deer might roam, bison even, but Isaac wouldn’t be swayed. Slept with his piece of dusty parchment under the coat he bundled up for a pillow.

With a snarl, Samson snatched it from his hand with his teeth on a long afternoon of wandering that seemed aimless, endless, and Isaac grabbed it back. Ended up on his back with Samson snarling over him.

‘I can’t stay out here forever!’ Isaac yelled, and a growl of disgust Samson padded away, faster and faster till he felt the wind ruffle his fur like fingers, raced after a solitary mountain goat that must have lost its way. Tore it apart and dragged it back to Isaac. Showed his worth. Took him hard and fast till Isaac sobbed but reached back to keep him inside, keep himself full, keep them together.

Vaguely, Samson thought, in subsequent days, that something unsettling had happened. But he couldn’t remember and it didn’t matter. He was learning to follow, the hand on his head, stroking his fur and ruffling his ears all that mattered.

‘We’re almost there, I think,’ Isaac said. Beyond the arid meadows spindly trees rose, but behind them smoke swirled up into the sky, like it did from his fires. And, at night, lights twinkled through leaves, but down low, not just overhead. And unnatural, straight paths cut through the undergrowth, bringing with them the scent of people and horses. Yelling and thuds in the distance, the constant scraping roar of sawing.

‘The trappers, they said it’s a township. People like me… well, people, anyway. They said it’s mostly loggers, said they reckon it’ll keep growing till all the trees are lumber. I can find work, buy clothes, books, I’ve missed books. Newspapers – I can find out what’s been happening back in the world. There’s a doctor if I get sick. A tavern, a sheriff, telegraphs, stagecoaches. I can go anywhere, do anything, be anyone. Maybe keep going. Find a different sea.’

Later, in the dusty mouth of a shallow cave, Isaac spread out on his clothes, another feast, while Samson licked him all over. A rumble in Samson’s throat at the scent, the musky excitement, Isaac’s fingers in his fur, unusually rough as he held Samson to him. Hips bucking as he gasped out, his rigid body spending itself, pulsing onto the soft flatness of his belly for Samson to lick the saltiness away.

More desperate than Samson for once as he was mounted, pushed back, taking everything, babbling as he was filled.

Hands fisted in Samson’s fur as he slept. The moon cut perfectly in half outside.

The road was dusty, as they walked along it. Marked with the indentations of hooves, and boots, of the debris that humans always leave behind; peelings from fruit and vegetables; gun shells; horseshoes.

‘We’re almost there…’ Isaac was saying, voice sad, quiet, but it had been a long, hard journey and he must be tired, lacked Samson’s stamina.

Samson could feel the anticipation, supposed they would be there soon, wherever they were going. Then they would start a new pack.

‘When we get there… When we get there, I shall have to go on alone. Thank you,’ fingers tightened, tugged at the fur on Sampson’s scalp, and he gave a contented whine, ‘thank you for getting me here.’

Samson would lead them, and they would treat Isaac, his mate, with the respect he deserved.

‘I didn’t quite follow the usual trails, but I got here in the end.’

Would they stay here or keep travelling? It didn’t matter. Besides, roaming suited Samson, he liked having something new to see and hear and smell every day.

‘You can find a she-wolf, someone like you. And then you’ll be accepted. I wonder how that feels? Perhaps the pack will take you back. And there’ll be pups – you’ll make such a good father; you took such good care of me.’

Sometimes Samson’s side ached, but he was a good provider, would keep Isaac safe. Rip the throat out of anyone who threatened him.

‘I won’t ever forget you.’

Already, for Samson, his old pack was barely a distant memory.

‘I wonder if people will be able to tell what I did with you? No – no of course they shan’t. They will know I’m different, people always know, but not _why_. They’d get together a mob and lynch me for this.’

He would mount Isaac right in front of the new pack they would establish, show them how things were going to be.

‘But then, they would for so many reasons, what’s one more? And I shan’t ever do this again. I shall… shall be normal, a good citizen… It’s not, not going back, ’tis finding that new start…’

He and Isaac would always be together, that’s all that mattered.

‘We shan’t ever see each other again, but I’m always going to miss you.’

At the bottom of the hill the township spread out before them. Wooden shacks that got bigger as the road wound away, some even made of large, chiselled stones. The neighing of horses and chatter of people drifted up to them along with the heavy irritation of sawdust, the ground yellow with it.

Haltingly, they made it down to the last straggly trees. Isaac paused, hung back from the clatter of creeping civilisation, rubbing Samson’s torn ear.

‘You’re better off without me, look at all the trouble I caused. And you’re so strong, you’ll be fine. Promise me?’

Samson gazed up at him with a quizzical expression, expectation hanging unanswered in the air.

He whined when Isaac let go and backed away. He made to follow, but Isaac held up his hands, palms facing forwards. ‘No – no, stay here. It’s easier if you just let me go.’

Isaac turned, swift as he disappeared and was swallowed up by the unnatural shapes of contorted wood and stone and the strangers milling around.

Samson pulled in his paws and settled down on the ground, temperate after the harshness of winter.

Laid down to wait as long as it took.

After all, Isaac would surely be back soon, they had a whole new life to begin.

**_The End_ **


End file.
